Things I Like About Latinas

A Gringo's Lament

The listicle before you is a follow-up to my previous meditations on the characteristic virtues of black people, women, chuds, Midwesterners, and Jewish guys, and if I’m honest exists primarily to convince a certain Latina in my DMs to unmute me.

Not because I’ve anything to tell her, mind, or even because the mute itself was all that consequential (she still reads my shit, and remains quite convivial on Notes), so much as because getting chickie to unmute in this case serves as an unusually zesty—and remarkably literary, as you’ll discover by the end of this—narrative framing device.

See, last year I pretty overtly promised the maid I’d never mine her life and personage for data points to cite whenever enumerating interesting / funnie things I’ve Noticed about Latinas, nor lean into any anecdotes about her in my writing more generally.

But that poses quite a semiotic riddle: how can I say something novel and insightful about the world while speaking to chickie specifically as a Latina (her; not me), without oafishly rolling our embattled beige baby up into hoe-scaring aggregative heuristics?

The path forward, I suspect, routes mostly through negative space—that strange and benighted Other Realm I sketched out a year and a week ago in The Girl Who Cried Incel.

The long story short, lads, is Walt’s going back in, and shit may well get spoopy here, to say nothing of hard to understand—so maybe just conceive of it like Magical Realism?

See, in the Other Realm it’s magical thinking that creates signage near negative space, and you always have to phase through negative space at some point. Now the signage never helps with that, and if followed too precisely simply sticks you in a closed loop—but even still, the very last thing you ever want to do in there is disrespect the signage.

You boys can trust Uncle Walt on that one.

Anyway, enough preamble—it’s time to get this show on the road!

Without further ado, here are some things I really adore about Latinas.

They Sneak Up On You

Ruby. Twenty.

Art hoe type. ENFJ. Intellectually ordinary—likely around 105 IQ.

Average height and build; strong tanlines. Skin a bit loose for her age, but fantastic little feet—superbly soft and delicate. Quite a few tattoos; none of them good.

Read mostly as a fuck-up; had a certain sloppiness to everything she did, but also a pronounced sweetness (or at least sickly-sweetness, in that entropic Zoomette way).

Vaped too much.

There was a boyfriend—hubby, these days—and Insta suggests they’re mostly pretty happy now; not so in 2021! They wanted out of Orlando, and into Miami, where they planned I believe then on doing some rap thing together? Can’t tell if it worked out—although it DOES seem they at least made it to Miami, even if it took a minute.

In truth it took many times longer than it should have—Bidenflation or no.

Ruby quit her jobs a lot—claimed her tips were so paltry it made a lot more sense just to interview elsewhere, and that meant there was always some new gig on the horizon.

Then one day, overdraft fees; landlord calls; latchkey mother bearing bootstraps.

SeekingArrangement.

Not to sleep with anyone—obviously! But maybe she can find, like… a platonic thing?

She can’t find a platonic thing.

What she does find are many dozens of suburban dads wanting to blow her out like a hooker for a third the market rate.

But then she’s messaged by a young guy—27, it says.

Nerdy dude in a wife beater and gym shorts. Opening his profile she sniggers at the cheugy bathroom mirror shot with fist clenched tight in pocket and tricep bulged out ostentatiously—almost endearing how emphatically he’s compensating for something.

She opens his message: “think we need to get those feet in my mouf asap”

Immediately she snorts into her fist—what the fuck? Is this dude for real?

Then at once she remembers how some chick at a party last year was bragging to everyone about always getting her nails covered by selling feet pics online.

She asks him if he’s interested. He is.

She takes a few customs; makes a cool benji—not a bad start!

He offers her $250 to come over to his high rise now so he can enjoy them in person.

She hesitates; knows there’s no way in hell her man would ever be okay with that. But
then she rationalizes—it’s just feet! Besides, he doesn’t need to ever find out about this, and I’m lowkey sort of doing this for him since it just means getting to Miami that much faster…

And so Ruby meets up with the wife beater dude outside his downtown high rise.

She goes in for a hug, but just as she’s extending her arms he grabs her firmly by the back of the neck and wrenches her face in towards his—quickly, smoothly, and almost algorithmically—for a long, deep kiss on the mouth that ends with him Frenching her.

She freezes; doesn’t quite register what’s going on.

He regards her carefully, making a weird incredulous Elon Musk face.

She stammers; giggles; bashfully mentions having a boyfriend.

He nods, takes her hand, and leads her into the building.

In the elevator he remembers that the cameras above are able to pick up sound, and so LARPily exclaims something like “I’m going to shred that little puss until you cry…”

She bites her lip, hard—then giggles nervously as he makes another Elon face. And then the doors finally open, at which point he grabs Ruby firmly by the hand and waltzes out through the hallway and into his apartment.

Four minutes later he ejaculates in a condom and unsheathes.

Then after taking just a few tasteful photographs of the used prophylactic draped cartoonishly across Ruby’s face, he unties her from the bedframe and orders them both Thai food on Uber Eats—which is when he finally remembers at last that Ruby herself hasn’t cum yet, and so promptly finishes her off with a suction vibe many times more powerful than anything she’s accustomed to. After climaxing semi-painfully she inquires not a little concerned if he ever actually cleans that thing between girls; briefly he hesitates, then ultimately opts for the white lie.

He tries to get her to listen to Cumtown clips while they eat, but she insists instead on talking. Lies to him about her relationship being open ackshully, and says something about her boyfriend “just not liking it when she takes risks.” He suspects that’s all a big fat womanlie, but manages to repress his inner neckbeard after recognizing that contextually such a lie is actually super useful to him and he’s lowkey acting like an incel right now for literally no reason despite unironically having just cucked a dude.

And that’s when Ruby mentions being Latina—specifically an adopted Mexican baby.

Which nowadays seems so ridiculous a thing to fixate on it’s all but impossible to even recall my thought process going into that moment—but basically I’d half a year before then come to terms with the reality of having fucked and deeply loved a Jewess, and so would have been entirely fine creating little Mischlings at that point. But also the Jews were evil overlords in my past ontology, and there’s a very real glamor in that; obviously I never thought them dumb or incapable. Whereas mating with brownpeepo…?

Now she was obviously Castiza is the thing, and probs something like 70% White overall, so I didn’t completely chimp out. That said I do remember acting quite a lot more douchey / rakish with babygirl pretty much immediately after that revelation, which thankfully she seemed to experience mostly as me being kind of ridiculous and retarded more than anything, and looking back Ruby almost certainly enjoyed being called a Spic in bed more than any other woman in this piece.

Though that may have had something to do with the whole adopted thing—because ironically enough her super Aryan mom used to be the property manager of my high rise and got to live there for free, which meant that Ruby essentially grew up in that place Zach and Cody-style before eventually leaving when she was ~14… which of course meant Ruby was familiar with basically all the building’s long-term staff, many of whom used to babysit her as a young child but never got to see her as an adult.

She didn’t really want them to, for whatever reason.

Anyway Ruby and I hooked up maybe four or five more times after that, but never really went on cute dates or anything like I usually would do with chicks back then—it was all pure booty calls with her more or less exclusively, which I guess makes sense looking back given she and her beau were locals.

But in spite of that and all the racist shit I was actually quite chivalrous with Ruby all considered—the lass was a horrid negotiator, see, and I likely could have had her on the reg for maybe $150 a pop had I really pushed it. But I ackshully kind of did want to help her out with that Miami shit so she wouldn’t need to go fuck some Boomer.

Having said that I did make her cry once while fucking her—ostensibly it was a slap across the kisser that did it, but that was normally peachy keen with her so looking back I suspect the ackshual issue may have been letting it slip to her that I’d lowkey humblebragged to the maintenance man (roughly my age, btw) about fucking the girl he used to babysit when she was living the Suite Life. She acted just mildly annoyed about it when I brought it up so it didn’t seem to matter, but I think it just put her in an overall fucky mindspace where getting slapped by a dude who happens to be the same age as the guy who used to babysit you in that tower you grew up in right after he bragged about fuckin your hot n sexy pussy to said babysitter in a dominance game just wasn’t going to be metabolized well.

Anyway she was bawling so I kind of pooped my pants worrying she’d do a charge or something and so offered to double her allowance after sending me an especially elaborate and gracious home safe daddy <3 text later that night, which immediately put her in a better mood thankfully. And then after that meanwhile I fucked her maybe like two more times, but I also didn’t really want to be aggro after what had happened before, and so the whole thing kind of just got boring and fizzled out.

The only long-term residue she really left in my life was that the maintenance man stopped bantering with me in the same way after that like he had before. But it wasn’t like he was angry or contemptuous or scared or outmanned or w/e—seemed more analogous to that feeling you get waking up from a dream where you fuck your mom.

Anyway point is I’m glad Ruby seems to have built a happy life with her hubs, and also hope she was able to make that rap shit work with him (or will at some point).

They Keep Up A Mystery

Lyssa. Twenty.

INFJ—probs around 115 IQ?

Rail-thin build bordering at times on anorexic, with enormous natty punkins and perfect feet, asshole, pussy—everything really. Felt like fucking a literal pornstar.

Talked like a little girl; depending on the context acted anywhere from 5 to 13.

Besides that her most distinctive quality was owning this enormous German Shepherd that was functionally the epicenter of her universe and amidst her brief tenure as my girlfriend in Q3 2022 made logistical shit orders of magnitude more onerous than it ever proved whilst dating a single mom the following year.

Though nothing against the pupper himself, obviously—he’d been traumatized earlier in life, as I understand it. Think he was owned by a black person or something?

Lyssa had been too, sadly—some black trucker I guess.

Which speaking of—that situation never made a lick of sense to me at all, as Lyssa had likewise been kept by decamillionaire tech CEOs with mini Hugh Hefner harems. So literally why a fucking black trucker? Also between the CEO and me she was living with some bitcoin criminal or some shit, who she claims to have never fucked and I guess ended up abandoning because he was trying to hurt her dog or something?

Honestly a lot of the shit she told me about her past while we were dating was a pretty fucking obvious lie even at the time—which you come to expect with Zoomettes most of the time anyway tbh, but not nearly at this level; even Layla was a rank amateur at liemaxxing compared to Lyssa when she really got her wheels spinning. So looking back the ackshual question is how much was spin versus straight-up fabrication.

Like for one thing she said her mom—who was Mexican, if you want to know where the Latina connection is (Lyssa called herself that only half-ironically in practice but while much closer to Blanca than Castiza you could definitely see the Tropics in her at times)—was a hooker, and that she’d regularly bring over Johns to rape and molest Lyssa as a little girl until she learned to defend herself from them with a slingshot or something Dennis the Menace style and eventually even took some chomo’s eye out. She was also in the running I guess to compete on the U.S. Olympic swim team, and even managed to support herself as a preteen through drag racing.

Moreover she said her female coworkers at every job she’s had are always making up random lies about her being a hooker, so REALISTICALLY she probably was just trafficked by her mom as a child and even after going to live with her dad fell into prostitution sort of ambiently throughout her life without necessarily realizing until much much later that she’d been gifted by the Gods with incredible beauty and didn’t really have to fuck like black truck drivers and shit anymore.

But yeah idk—like objectively she was just kind of psycho and annoying sometimes and I wouldn’t have put up with that from anyone less than Goddess-tier, but when things were going well with her it was just kind of gravy.

Thing is though we also kind of just jumped into shit super fucking fast—like I asked her to be my girlfren and we said I love you the very first time we had sex—because I had just been flaked on by my German bestie Gretel (the one who’d kill herself several months later if you know your Walt Lore) who was supposed to come spend a week with me so as to assess real-world dyadic compatibility.

And the thing is Gretel was two years older than me and also far and away more my class and intellectual equal (though she herself had been a hooker when she was around Lyssa’s age after getting raped in an apartment tour or something), so having that fizzle out was really quite gay and so afterwards I just wanted to jump in a retarded puss teenager (who was also supposed to make Gretel jeal obviously).

Problem is that worked a little too well since Gretel almost immediately ended up friendzoned by some instagram meme admin faggot she’d chosen over me who decided instead to marry a fat Jewess, and when she came back to me for validation cummies I was spending all my time fucking punkins instead which made Gretel hate Lyssa’s guts from the very beginning.

Gretel was clever though—planted class insecurities in me about whether serious people would ever respect me with a chick like that, and a but more pettily managed to convince me very briefly that Lyssa has Poor People Hair, which was a whole thing. Anyway long story short I kind of just yeeted Gretel from my life eventually—or at least until shit came to a close with Lyssa.

How did that happen, you ask?

Well the biggest thing is I was kind of just being a prick to her—e.g. one time I snapped at her in a restaurant for not knowing what “ceteris paribus” means.

That said I might also be doing the male form of renarrativization here to bolster my own sense of agency around a shitty situation, because objectively what happened in this situation is she went back to her old Tech CEO who dresses up Zoomettes who work for him / live with him like toddlers and has them like lick his asshole and shit.

Ultimately there’s no way to know whether she’d still have gone back had I been a bit nicer and more stable to her at the time. I think it would have taken much longer at a minimum, but ultimately girls just do what they want and reasons reasons afterward.

Everything they get away with justifies itself—as does all we do that constrains them.

So: lessons learned! Get chickie on your phone plan ASAP, and should you ever find yourself attached to a nereid like Lyssa ensure your kennel’s big enough to hold her.

Honor Means Something To Them

Valeria. Twenty-three.

ESFJ with an IQ in the mid-110s I’d hazard, but far less of a normie than that implies.

Average height and build—soft feminine body; big black bush on puss and asshole.

She came from a large and prosperous Florida Cuban family—super duper Catholic. Also had a relatively impressive job for her age as some kind of logistics manager, which by Zoomette standards automatically makes her the consummate girlboss.

She was also an ardent romantic by nature, having recently ended things with some long-term college beau she’d planned on marrying for years and was obviously gay.

And that’s what brought her to SeekingArrangement; not to get an allowance per se (which between her job and rich family she didn’t really need) but to act out a bit and go get ravaged by an older and evil-coded male in some baroque theatrical manner optimized chiefly for moral catharsis. So long story short I do the whole scawy daddy deep voice thing over the phone and get her to send me a bunch of full body nudes with face (apparently is a novel experience for her) and tell her to come meet me for brunch the next day—which might not sound all that rapey out of context, but just remember it’s me and hang tight; I promise you’ll see where I’m going with this.

So I take Valeria to this totes adorbs lil hipster cafe right next to my condo, wherein being high time preference and wanting to get inside fast as pos I go retrieve a chess set and in my LARP voice inform her that if I win the match each one of her holes now belongs to me etc. etc.—at which point she ofc tries to turn it around and ask me what she’d get for winning, which I basically just make fun of her and say she won’t.

So obviously thirty minutes later I have her buck naked on my bed wrists cuffed fast to headboard and am preparing to make the rounds, at which point she suddenly starts having what appears to be a minor anxiety attack whilst I prepare to hop inside. And she’s not really fighting back per se, but is 100% crying out genuine and very real tears of shame which hot and sexy as they no doubt are also just expose a feller to a bit too much womanly volatility and reputational tail risk sans an adequately-sized kennel.

So I slow down and find out she’s only been with three dudes blah blah blah and so recalibrating my risk assessment logic in accordance with tawdry catholic girl jokes tap on the backdoor and ask what sort of traffic it’s managed to accommodate—and now suddenly the look in her eyes is all fear and at least not any obvious shame, which seems to me at least a vastly better recipe for a positive situational outcome here.

That said it actually kind of does just end up being way more intense for her than I intend, which long term is pretty annoying because when she stays the night several days later on her birthday she won’t let me fuck her asshole as it hurts so bad, and meanwhile I’ve already been locked into the modality of Respecting The Pussie (which ofc she narrates as the reason she wants to see me again instead of just one and done which I love at the time… looking back it seems post-hoc, but who knows?) which means it kind of feels we’re getting into a relationship drift sitch while my functional sexual dominion over her is actually shrinking, and I know Good Girls will always find some way to narrate that dynamic as being a promotion but fact is male psychology just doesn’t work that way, and this is yet another reason sluts are incredibly splendid; they usually don’t Madonna-Whore themselves in a way that elevates random rapey stranger above beloved boyfriend / husband in sexual license the way Good Girls do.

Anywho things eventually got too gay in this direction so I kind of just torched it.

They’re Great At Being Crazy

We’ll call her Dulcinea—she deserves it.

Twenty-four.

ENFP, with an IQ I’d estimate at around ~125.

I don’t remember what her body looks like literally at all because the three or four times I fucked her she was kind of gay and didn’t let me take pictures. But it also wouldn’t really feel appropriate objectifying her in that way I think.

Anywho I met Dulcinea in late 2022 shortly after Lyssa went back to that Tech CEO and I was literally fucking like 3-5 new girls per week to distract myself. One night she was one of those girls—and it makes me feel like a chode to say, but she was kind of the back of the fridge option at that point on account of my dick being pretty racist. Though understand also that by that point I’d been with plenty of Castiza women and didn’t mind a darker complexion per se—it was more Dulcinea’s nose was super duper Amerind and bulbous, which was kind of a luck of the draw situation I guess given babygirl is ackshully half-polish and so her siblings just look kind of Italian while she registers almost as more Mestiza than Castiza literally just because of her nose.

But anyway I take chickie upstairs and throw a pillowcase over her head (not because of the nose I did that with all girls at the time, it’s this whole weird thing I won’t get into) and then fucked her kind of assuming she was just some dumb savage beaner.

But then after sex we get to chatting and it turns out she’s super into Jordan Peterson of all things and knows a fuckton about Jungian psychology while also being a pretty militant libertarian. And so now I’m thinking why not just buy her a nosejob and mary this bih—but she says she’s now approaching sugaring purely transactionally kind of like low volume escorting because she’s been fucked around by sugar daddies she fell in love with in the past and so won’t really “date” anyone from Seeking anymore because we’ve all kind of lost the ability to take the Feminine Mystique on its own terms. But she does want to be friends, so we enter into a FWB register for a while.

That said she was always accusing me of paying her less than other girls on SA specifically because she’s Latina—which is kind of just a retarded womanism because men do not price pussy under the labor theory of value and she should know that as a libertarian! Yes I might precognitively value blonde puss the most, but if a blonde bih is easy for me to hustle I’ll absolutely gape her shitter and try to pay her $150 after. The reason Latinas think they’re suffering from price discrimination is because blonde women are just cuntier than white brunettes and will negotiate harder so if you go through a dude’s venmo when he’s not looking the blonde bitch will be getting all the four figure numbers. But Latinas negotiate harder than white brunettes frankly, especially because they have to act like pussy cesar chavez all the fucking time.

Anyway so fast forward a few weeks later—I start to fuck this wiggery bimbo chick who ends up shitfaced drunk in my bathtub and I spend the entire evening babysitting without even getting to cum. So in the morning I’m like hey I didn’t even fuck you can we just meet in the middle when it comes to allowance? And she seems cool with it. But then a few days later I end up messaging this chick’s saracen bestie who’s also on SA and she sends me this huge psycho message about how I “drug women” and am going to go to jail, which I take to mean they’re filing a charge or some shit.

So I call Dulcinea and get her take as to whether a SWAT team was about to kick down my door and she says I’m being extremely retarded and even when she herself was ackshully raped in the past and they got the guy there were a million procedural rungs between A and Z and any judge would laugh this bitch out of the courtroom—and also that I’m a faggot and shouldn’t have called her at 3am over this. I ask her to come spend the night with me anyway because my feelings don’t care about your facts bitch and I’m noivous. She says she’ll come over for $500. Can I fuck your face? I mean sure, yeah—if I’m there already, why not? Okay!

That may have been the warmest moment of friendship in my life—definitely top 5.

Sadly our connection didn’t last especially long because halfway through the subsequent year (when I really needed a smart chick in my life tbh given Gretel had only recently offed herself) Dulcinea had some kind of cataclysmic mental breakdown and ended up in the hospital for a schizo thing.

And I only got to talk to her once after that before she just disappears off the face of the earth—don’t know if she’s in a cult or sex trafficked or what—but anyway she confirmed to me in this conversation that whenever I see regular images as having AI textures after staying up for 96 hours masturbating to shit out of StableDiffusion that’s literally just psychosis and I’m treading the line with whatever she has now.

Which seems right tbh.

They’ve A Special Connection To The Underworld

Griselda was nineteen.

But Griselda wasn’t supposed to be there.

I’d only gotten the Uber for her girlfriend, Mary.

And Mary was not a Latina—but she matters to the story nonetheless.

See, Mary was an anorexic Red Scare girl who’d only just turned eighteen—though I’d first made her acquaintance a month or two prior to that birthday when she was still lying about her age on SA, and then a few weeks after that broke my fast with the filly in a hugely splendiferous mentoring meal at the International House Of Pancakes.

The plan at that point was for me to help her get her own apartment right away—and boy, did that girl seem worth the investment! Smart as a whip, funny, cultured as anything, talented… an almost archetypal mirror of my idealized ingenue Zoomette!

Yeah, you see where this is going.

The primary warning sign I ignored is that all of Mary’s relationships thus far in life had been with women—including this scary mommy-coded bulldyke bitch she went runaway to live with at some point mid-adolescence. She was just inexorably drawn to chthonic smelly puss Dworkin energy, and had no real appetite for Apollo’s jissum.

Which isn’t to say she didn’t like men at all—she rather adored Hadean and Mercurian and Dionysian-type fellers to whatever extent they embodied the brash and impetuous nature of her own smoldering animus, which at least last I checked seems to have impelled her to gender transition. At times she’d even fuck such fellers! Alas, that was also nowhere near chief modality of her present sexual configuration, which by and large was something boisterously and almost religiously sapphic.

She met Griselda around her birthday.

Griselda was middle class to Mary’s white trash, and primarily of Columbian extraction—hence her padre being ferociously hostile to narcotics as a platonic form and therefore also Griselda’s meme-tier Xanny addiction, which like basically all girls of that milieu she lowkey turned into her personality the same way I do Adderall.

Anyway I forget the deets but IIRC neither girl’s family thought the other was a decent influence on their daughter and so tried to put the kibosh on their retarded little scissorseshies. And naturally this escalates to the point where both girls are kicked from their homes and need a place to go—and so isn’t it convenient that Mary has that credulous Millennial unc in her back pocket?

So long story short is it’s October 2021—the night of my 28th birthday, mind—and Mary’s in the Uber to Orlando while I Jewishly rub my hands together rejoicing in the fact that I’m about to get my filthy face-touching unc paws on a freshly legal anorexic.

And then this from Mary:

Happy Birthday to me I guess...

What ultimately ensues is technically a threesome for maybe two or three minutes and then quickly degrades into an aggressive shitfaced sapphic scissorfest where Griselda and Mary are punching each other and fisting each other in this extremely chthonic and groace way that I don’t find winsome at all and meanwhile Griselda says that I shouldn’t fuck Mary after she gets drunk past a certain point which is clearly dyke cockblocking but whatever fuck me I guess.

Weirdly enough though Griselda and I end up having a really gr8 conversation that night after Mary gets too drunk to control herself and passes out—Griselda’s heftier physique no doubt absorbing the worst of the spirits that one-shotted 95 lbs Mary.

I have zero recollection of anything we actually said, but it was probably in that moment that I came closest to deep and genuinely dyadic bonding with a Zoomette.

The problem is I just wasn’t attracted to Griselda and Griselda didn’t want me fucking Mary in any way unless she was involved, and even in the following morning I wasn’t even able to get a footjob from Mary without Griselda trying to involve herself and her fat chick feet which, no! I managed to diffuse it and stay polite but there was clearly tension and then Mary started talking about how guys who don’t like fat chicks are gay etc. etc., so I kind of just sent them on their way then. But even after being totally sexually unsatisfied on my birthday I gave them some cash and tried to help them access women’s shelters and lawyers and shit best I could.

Then a few years later I tried to fuck Mary again and she agreed to let me have her asshole if I got her some XANNIES LOL but only if Griselda was in the other room.

Obviously I say no that would ruin it and that made them both poop their pants and start getting all these rando poors to text me death threats etc., so I just cut ties.

We unironically need to criminalize lesbianism.

They Have A Certain “Human Rorschach” Quality`

Her name translated to “Dove Dictator” in English, and she was twelve years old.

But let’s back up.

Greeley, Colorado is an unpretentious little hamlet ninety minutes north of Denver that while somewhat lacking in nightlife, high culture, and marriageable women more than makes up for it in meat, manure, and Mexicans.

I became remarkably familiar with that last category during the gap year between my philosophy and actuarial degrees, when as a freshly legal lad of eighteen years I spent several months back-to-back tutoring their niños.

The gig was in-home tutoring, see—or I guess “in-trailer tutoring” for two of the kids.

One of those trailers was roomy, though, and for Hispanics quite tastefully furnished; the family name was Cervantes, and you could tell the dad (unironically Miguel) was fiercely proud of that—explains why he got along so well with my own father (who doubled as my chauffeur that year given that I still lacked a loicense), particularly after learning the old man taught Spanish linguistics. Said the resemblance was uncanny—which is true, although I’m three inches taller and my nose a little less Irish / piggy.

Anywho I actually felt bad early on for just how well I got along with the Cervantes clan, as if I’m honest their second grader whose Christian name escapes me seemed many times too stupid at first to grasp basically anything in the curriculum—at least until three sessions in, when it struck me at once that the little amigo was ackshully autistic at like the Chris Chan level, which his parents being not only beaners but religious and conservative beaners would likely take forever to accept. Luckily though it went down pretty smooth for them once they learned I myself had the spark, and by the end of our seshies I’d come to feel not a little like Anne Sullivan.

Anyway the other trailer kid was Dove Dictator—and, yes, a twelve year-old girl

That make you uncomfortable?

It should—because you really couldn’t have designed a more perfectly demonstrative failure mode here given that A) chiquita pretty clearly had a crush on me, and made that incredibly obvious to a degree I at that point hadn’t experienced probably since I was her age thanks to having myself been doogie howser jailbait for the better part of undergrad; and far more worryingly B) on maybe our third or fourth session her illegal immigrant mom randomly absconded from the trailer (far and away less homey than the Cervantes-mobile), trusting I guess an adult male stranger to (in flagrant violation, btw, of the compact she’d signed) babysit her preteen daughter behind closed doors literally just the two of us whilst moms fucks off to be a hooker or something.

So being a huge faggot I chose the Good Option and stayed on the phone with my boss in this sketchy favela-coded trailer park just kind of loitering around outside like an asshole until the mom gets back, which at least per Dove Dictator wasn’t so safe for a whiteboi to do after dark by himself besides she isn’t even gonna say anything and wishes I’d stop being so gay because my mom literally can’t speak English and will sign whatever I tell her to—like, bruh, it’s fine...

Anywho said mom pulled her out of school like halfway through the semester for I think it was a month to do some extended family reunion thing south of the border, and by the time she returned chiquita hadn’t just forgotten everything we’d done but seemed palpably changed in a way I misliked; felt like depression, but in a far heavier way than one associates with adolescent girls. She carried herself like she’d seen shit.

And even worse, it seemed she’d mostly lost that crush on me!

…which moralfag or not had been pretty damn gr8 for my barely legal self-esteem, and was kind of the only reason at that point I still planned on finishing her contract after all my other kids had long finished. But in the end my dad persuaded me to stick it out, noting that if Dove Dictator had been deflowered by some devilish gran torino cousin the very last thing she needed was for the closest thing in her life to a stable and at least ostensibly virtuous male authority figure to randomly fuck off.

Looking back I’m not sure how much not randomly fucking off accomplished; the girl seemed mostly over whatever had happened after like a month or so, and then as if to foreshadow subsequent Zoomettes spent most of our remaining sessions bored out of her mind and distracted by literally everything—which I suppose in fairness so was I,

If anything I think the two of us sort of connected in a quasi-existentialist way over the absurdity of teaching her the Lattice Method or w/e when all her life outcomes of consequence were so hugely overdetermined by e.g. whether moms decides to bring rando felons around the trailer and impulsively sell them Dove’s asshole for meth.

At the end of the day there really are just certain situations in life where the very best thing you can do for someone is to hope they get really fucking good with a slingshot.